The Riot Side
by kweenofalldreams13
Summary: Upon moving to Hamburg with her working stiff father, ill mother, and mentally disabled sister, Adelaide finds herself swept up in the charm of the notorious swing kids. Love, the HJs, and music turn a quiet girl into a hep kitten. ThomasxOC
1. Chains

**Chains**

"Screw ya," I muttered under my breath, tugging on Astrid's arm. She followed clumsily, her feet dragging along with her as she continued to ramble nonsense in an undertone. It was the same, always the same: "_Astrid a good girl, Astrid good, Astrid no hurt people, not hurt people!_" Nights would end with her crying, and Mama crying, and Papa yelling, and me with my hands over my ears with the worlds swirling around me. I wasn't going to tell them about this one, that this time they'd caught us trying to get into the big, main record store when Astrid was retarded.

"Screw ya, screw ya, screw ya," Astrid repeated, and I rolled my eyes, clutching her arm in my hand and a thick stack of books to my chest. I wasn't used to this responsibility, lugging Astrid around with me everywhere I went, but now, now that we were in Hamburg and Mama had gotten sick and Papa had to work full-time, now she was slung upon me, something I wasn't accustomed to and something I never knew I would need to be. Sure, Astrid was my sister, and yes, I loved her, but I wasn't used to handling...someone like her.

Caught up in my thoughts, I smashed into a few young men passing by, scattering the books everywhere, and I released Astrid for a split-second to collect them all back up again, feeling my heart drop through my toes. Two horrible things were going to come out of this: one, they would be members of the stupid, vile HJ and condemn Astrid for her mental disability, and two, Astrid would lose the calm she bore when life was balanced, and she would have another of her fits.

Thankfully, neither of these happened immediately, and two of the boys stooped down beside me to hand me my books. I breathed heavily, panting due to my fears at what could have gone on, but didn't, thank the Lord, and praying that Astrid would just stay quiet and look down to her feet as always, and maybe the government would believe her almost normal; besides, it wasn't as though she was stupid, she was very good at math and sciences, but when you got her around people things were a train-wreck. The pair of them handed me the books, and two others behind them stood dutifully, one wearing spectacles and a hat and the other with blond hair and large eyes. The two were more handsome than their counterparts, though slightly less with the one with thicker eyebrows. I sighed out, hoping it would serve alright as thanks.

"No problem, doll...hey, haven't I seen you around?" the one with the eyebrows queried and I shrugged, looking down to my books and reaching back for Astrid, who loyally gripped my hand in hers. "Just started going to the Academy a few weeks ago, didn't you?" I nodded this time, holding my breath in, lest it anger one of them. The Nazis didn't care if you had friends or a family or dreams...if you looked one way, spoke one way, smelled one way, they would slaughter you, just slaughter you for what you were. They didn't care...

"You can talk, can't you?" the handsome one quipped, quirking his eyebrow at me. I nodded. "Well, go on."

"I'm very sorry I bumped into you, but really, my sister and I must go home–" I stammered, trying to brush past them once more, but the handsome one grabbed onto my arm. An odd feeling sparked in my stomach, arms, and legs, and I stopped in my tracks.

"Hey, hey, we're not gonna hurt you or anything. Here, I'll even tell you my name. See, I'm Thomas, Thomas Berger, king of the Castle Bismarck," he boasted, his chest expanding considerably, and I noticed the grey trousers he wore, with grey suspenders, a white shirt and a black tie, and one navy coat over it. "See, now it's your turn, little lady. What's your name?"

"Adelaide Schultz," I mumbled under my breath, "and this is my sister Astrid. Now I'm really very sorry, but we must go home."

"Well, Adelaide and Astrid, two young ladies such as yourselves shouldn't ever walk Hamburg's streets alone, even now during the daylight," Thomas interrupted once more, his eyes growing large with enthusiasm. "Perhaps it would be wiser for us to accompany you home?" The back two looked uneasy, but Thomas and his counterpart seemed comfortable. I did not want to be taken advantage of, so I shook my head.

"No, no, really, it's all fine. We'll be off now, thank you very much for your concern, but my sister and I shall be fine. Thank you, thank you," I said hurriedly, and pushed past them, clenching onto Astrid's hand so tightly she half-cried out. I released my grip on her a little bit. "I'm sorry, Astrid." Her eyes lost the pained look and went blank again.

"Sorry," she parroted. "Sorry, sorry, sorry." I blew out another sigh, and kept walking quickly as fast as I could, taking as many backroads as I knew to avoid those damned Hitler Jugen, or worse, the twice as damned, twice as God-forsaken Gestapo, those evil, vile, dictatorial devils. I half-skipped, dragging Astrid along by her inflated hand, and she followed along, until we reached home and we were safe for now.


	2. Meine Alte Welt

**Meine Alte Welt**

As Astrid and I slid through the front door, we found the house entirely empty and silent. Most likely, Mama was probably already asleep in her bed in her and Papa's room, and Papa was at work, per usual. Astrid started to wriggle about, looking uncomfortable in her blouse and jacket and wool skirt. I thought I knew.

"You need a bath, Astrid?" I asked her, as she wrenched her hand out of mine to tug on the collar of her blouse, and her head bobbed like a duck's. "Do you want me in the washroom with you or do you want to try this time yourself?" She shrugged her shoulders over and over, and started to the washroom. I followed, turning away when she disrobed to start the water, and I filled it with as many bubbles as the damn Gestapo would let us have, as they knew of Astrid's condition and considered her one of the condemned retarded. We were under such close watch, what with her being the way she was. She climbed in, and I shut off the water. I sat down beside the tub, holding a bottle of shampoo and a soap-on-a-string for her.

"Ask the questions!" Astrid ordered, splashing at our silence. I wiped a bubble away from my skirt.

"Five to the third power," I said to her, and she closed her eyes and huffed in exasperation while I squirted a fat lump of shampoo into her open, waiting hands.

"_Hard_ questions!" she demanded.

"Fine," I sighed, obedient, and tried to recall the problems in a book an old professor of mine had given my sister.

It seemed in the old days that nobody but me and Mama really bothered to try and understand what went on (or what didn't) in Astrid's head. Nobody but me, Mama and old Professor Zimmermann. Professor Zimmermann had been my old statistics teacher back in Cologne. The first day of class, he went around the room, shook everyone's hand, and asked their names and what they wanted to do for a career. And then, once everyone was there and accounted for, he went around, reciting all our names and our aspirations. He was strict school-wise but he was witty and clever at the same time. He was my favourite professor of all.

One time Papa fell off the roof when he was trying to fix a few of the broken shingles. I was at school, at an extra tutoring session with some of the other members of my class and Professor Zimmermann. Mama dropped Astrid off with me at tutoring so she could take Papa to the hospital. A bunch of the kids who were with us made these stupid comments and jokes about her and the way she talked and the way she acted and I just about snapped. I got ready to just leave and take Astrid with me, but he stopped them and _made_ them apologize. He asked the two of us to stay after the tutorial was over, and we went into his office. He asked us questions about our family and our lives and things, and after we'd spent hours in that office, he finally dismissed us. He handed Astrid a book on the way out with all kinds of math problems, her favourite things, and smiled at her and she said thank you. He actually treated her like a person and not just another retard, like the rest of them when they saw her. I had full respect for him from that day on. He was my favourite professor and Astrid's too, whenever she was around my school.

"Towel," said Astrid, holding out her small, puffy hand to me. I gave it to her, leaning down to unplug the drain and let the water swirl down it.

The radio sounded from Mama's room, a loud beat of a classical German polka. I twirled a little in the washroom. Astrid started twirling as well, in her towel, too. She dried off and fixed on her fresh clothes and the two of us both danced the polka in little circles. Astrid was laughing and I was laughing and we collapsed on the floor in a laughing fit.

"Girls! I'm home!" Papa yelled from the front door, and Astrid jumped up, pushed past me and into the foyer, where Papa was. I threw her towel into the to-do laundry basket on the way there. "Afternoon, Adelaide, my lovely. How are you, darling?" He kissed me tenderly on the cheek, and squeezed me to his side.

"It was good, Papa. Astrid was a good girl today, weren't you, Astrid?"

"Good girl," Astrid repeated mechanically, rocking happily from side to side. "Good girl, good girl, good girl, good girl."

"That's right, Astrid," I confirmed, ruffling her hair and laughing when she shuddered. "You were a lovely girl today." In turn, she squeezed my hand.

"Adelaide, what are you up to, tonight, I mean? Do you have any dates with any of these wild Hamburg boys yet?" he jested. I blushed and shook my head. "Why, then go get some, sweetie. Go make some plans, I'll take care of your sister and your mama. Go get ready, dress up. God knows you've had enough to worry about since we've come here." He kissed me on the top of the head and I sighed my thanks. "Go on dear, get yourself lookin' gorgeous. The boys are sure to drop dead for ya." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Papa! Actually telling me to go out and enjoy myself for once, not just to mind Astrid, or watch Astrid.

I felt free again, freer than I'd been since we left Cologne for this mad city.


	3. Mit Ihnen Gerade Tanzen

Mit Ihnen Gerade Tanzen

"What's a young lady like yourself doing out here in the middle of the night, where you could be corrupted by some nasty HJs?" growled a voice from behind me, and I whipped around with a closed fist, hoping I could just make contact and run. "Ow! Jesus Christ, that's the last time I sneak up on you, sweetheart. I'm sorry." I turned to look at the boy from today, nursing a bloody and fat lip. I clapped my hand over my mouth and tugged my handkerchief out from my purse, dabbing at his lip.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't expect–I mean, I just–"

"No need to apologize to this halfwit, baby, he's always digging himself a hole," said one of the handsome boy's counterparts, one whose name still eluded me. "Don't know if we got around to it, but it's Otto." He offered his hand and I shook it. The one with the eyebrows offered his next, a genial grin crossing his boyish face.

"Peter." Next was the one with the glasses who clutched his umbrella as if for life.

"Arvid," he nodded. Behind the boys, the final one, was a girl, shaking her head good-naturedly.

"Evey," she told me, smiling kindly. I smiled at them all, feeling a bit taken by all the appearances of people all around us. "Pleased to meet you," she added, and I said the same. Her smile was warm and motherly.

"Getting back to my question now, what are you doing out here in the middle of the night all by your lonesome in this fine attire?" Thomas asked, quirking his eyebrow, as his eyes ran me up and down. "It's gettin' mighty late, isn't it, guys? Where were you heading off to at this time, sweetheart?" I shrugged. "Well, then, I suppose you wouldn't mind coming with us to a little spot we hang around at every so often."

"What did you have in mind?" I inquired. I hoped I would catch on to whatever it was they wanted me to be a part of...

"It's all a simple question, really," Thomas insisted, draping an arm over my shoulders with that lopsided grin on his handsome face, even with his lip split from my stupidity. Peter rolled his eyes in good nature. "Do you, uh, d'you like swing or are you on the side of the Hitler Jackasses?" He said it as a joke but I blushed anyways. Could he really think that I, with a mentally disabled sister, could possibly be on the side of the Hitler Jugend?

"Honestly, I–I don't really know much about it. Is it very good?" Thomas and Peter let out an identical low whistle and looked at each other in amazement. "What is it? Have I said something amiss? I'm sorry, I should be going–"

"You gotta come with us, then, we'll convert you. She'll be a hep kitten in no time," Thomas said confidently to the rest of them and Evey stifled a laugh.

"Making yourself another project, eh, Berger? What if this girl's actually smart and doesn't fall for your ridiculous charm?" she taunted him, eyebrows raised. She was so pretty, so much prettier than I was. I remembered seeing her in school one time, thinking that because she was so pretty she _had_ to be conceited, like all other pretty girls out there. But no, she wasn't. I supposed not all pretty girls were conceited.

"Eh, this one oughta work out. Look at you, huh, Evey? Just a few weeks ago, didn't you say you'd never be caught at the Bismarck and look at you now, a total hep kitten along with us for the ride against those damn ickies!" Thomas sounded so joyful, so insistent. "She'll certainly end up just as jazzy and swingin' as you've become, kiddo." She rolled her eyes at him again but he started some little jive out in the middle of the street until Peter socked him on the shoulder, his eyes crinkled up in laughter.

"Come on, let's get going, you're making an ass out of yourself again. Adelaide, were you coming with us?" Peter inquired in a gentlemanly manner, offering up a smile. I looked about me, but this time there was no Papa and no Astrid to make a decision for me. The decision was my own to make. Thomas dramatically offered a heroic arm, bending down to a knee and raising his eyebrows expectantly.

"Yeah, I guess I'll go," I answered, taking his arm and hoping I knew what exactly I was getting myself into.

When we passed into the club, I felt extremely foreign. People were dancing and and whooping to a music that was alien to my ears. The way they moved amazed me and frightened me all at once. Girls were flung over men's shoulders, swinging their legs and arms about like rag doll. I stared with my jaw agape. Thomas looked at me with a grin.

"Wanna give it a shot?" he offered.

"I have no idea how to do _that_!" I exclaimed, nodding at a girl flying over a man's shoulders, doing twists and turns in the air.

"Aw, no worries, sweetheart, I'll show ya, we'll start off with all the basics. You'll be fine in my hands," he promised, flashing me a wink. I continued to stare as the men flapped their arms about in wide circles.

"Can you make it so I _don't_ show my knickers off to nearly _everyone_?" I gasped, and Thomas burst out laughing. Instead of giving me a verbal answer, he grabbed onto my hand and dragged me out onto the dance floor. He began to give me some instruction on how to twirl, how to spin. I started to get the hang of it, and Thomas flung me over his shoulder, spinning around, and then set me down, slid me between his legs and back up again.

"You're doing great, just great doll, keep it up and you'll be a swing girl in no time," he whispered in my ear, and just as he did, the music changed to a slower, more mellow beat. Thomas changed our positions, slinging an arm around my waist and letting my hand drift over his with the other. His forehead met mine and those twinkling eyes smiled into mine.

"Well, thanks for teaching me," I breathed, a weird feeling rising up within me. He glided us around the dance floor, keeping me steady even when I thought I was going to go completely weak in the knees and fall to the ground. When the song ended, Thomas led me over to a table where sat Otto, Arvid, Peter, Evey, and a new girl I didn't recognize. She stood up to introduce herself as Helga. I nodded and introduced myself. She seemed pleasant enough.

After taking a break from time to time most of us got back up and dancing, except for Arvid, who usually just sat at the table talking to Helga or Otto, depending on who was off dancing, but a little later on he pushed away from the table and hobbled up to the stage with a guitar case in hand. He sat down, undid the case, and withdrew from it a gorgeous little guitar. One of the emcees sent him an introduction as "the Hitman meets Count Basie" and the crowd cheered. And then he started to play.

His guitar felt like butter on my ears and immediately I was dragged up by Evey to go dance. It wasn't what you'd call serious swing, but we were having fun and laughing. Curfew was almost up, though, and I realised this just moments before the clock decided to turn against me. I rushed to the table to grab my coat and my purse and get out the door before I felt a hand grab down on my arm.

"Where are you going?" Thomas shouted over the music.

"I have to go, I have curfew in a few minutes." He sighed and departed from the girl with whom he was dancing to get his coat from the chair he'd once occupied. The girl sent me a look of deep discontent before sauntering away to dance with some other swing boy.

"I'll walk you home," Thomas promised, and he and I exited through a back door, he with his hand on the small of my back, as though to guide me. The air outside felt refreshing, cold as it stung my cheeks, but new and not so filled with the indistinct combinations of men's colognes and women's perfumes. "While I walk you, is it alright if I talk to you, too?" I nodded.

"Of course. Anything."

"What about your sister?"

"Anything but that," I answered, looking down to my feet. It figured. The only time I was absent of Astrid, I had to have some kind of nagging reminder.

"I'm sorry," Thomas apologized, rubbing his arm up and down. "Did you have a good time tonight?" I nodded wordlessly, my face still burning from the ugly, overprotective feeling deep in my stomach. "I'm real glad you came. For someone who doesn't listen to swing, you sure dance it well."

"Thank you," I muttered. Then Thomas did something I didn't expect–he reached down and grabbed my hand into his sending me a confused look as though asking for my permission. I encouraged him, a small smile rising up onto my face. He mimicked it and my heart beat two times faster. He really was very handsome, with playful dark eyes that twinkled mischievously and long blond hair that framed his chiseled face. His collar was popped up and his ears were pink from the cold. He held onto his umbrella like the rest of them did, as though it was their instrument. I remembered the way I had once felt about the flute, back as a child. It was like a child to me.

"You know, Hitler might not see it, what with his Aryan agenda, but you are absolutely gorgeous. And that dress only makes you look lovelier in this light." And his words only made my cheeks grow redder in that light. The rest of the way we walked to my house with my face flaming and my heart pounding violently in my chest. Upon arriving at my house, Thomas pulled my other hand into his. "Looks like this is your stop. G'night, doll."

"Goodnight, Thomas," I mumbled, making the bold move to kiss his cheek. I adjourned into the house with pictures of swing boys permanently burned into my mind.


End file.
